'Daddy, our gateman always comes inside your bedroom to touch mummy's body with a red cloth anytime you go to work.'
My 9-year-old son left that sentence for me in a letter three weeks ago.
He had folded the paper into four tiny parts and slipped it inside my briefcase, the same briefcase I carried to work every single morning.
That afternoon, I was in my office looking for a blue pen when my fingers brushed against a strange white paper.
At first, I frowned.
'What is this doing here?' I whispered.
I opened it slowly, not knowing that one small paper was about to scatter my peace.
The first line looked innocent.
'Daddy good morning. How is work? I hope you are fine? I hope you have eaten?'
I almost smiled.
Then I continued reading.
'I want to tell you something. I wanted to tell you this morning but I was afraid because mummy was looking at me. That is why I wrote this.'
My hand became cold.
I shifted in my chair and read the next part with my heart beating like a drum.
'Daddy, our gateman always comes inside your bedroom to touch mummy's body with a red cloth anytime you go to work. Please don't tell mummy. I don't want her to beat me. I love you, Daddy.
Your lovely son.'
For a few seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
Sonia?
My own wife?
And Musa, the gateman I trusted with my house, my compound, my keys, and even my family?
I picked up my phone immediately to call Sonia, but something inside me stopped my thumb before it touched her name.
'No,' I told myself. 'Do not warn her.'
I stood up and began pacing around my office like a man who had lost something he could not name.
My chest was hot. My eyes were burning. The letter shook in my hand.
How could she do this to me with the man who opened my gate every morning?
Then a thought came to me so clearly that it felt like somebody whispered it into my ear.
Go home. See it with your own eyes.
I grabbed my car key from the desk and walked out without telling anybody.
All through the drive home, my mind was not on the road. I kept seeing Sonia's face, Musa's quiet smile, and my son hiding fear behind his little handwriting.
By the time I got close to the house, I parked some distance away from the gate.
I did not want Musa to hear my car.
I stepped down and walked quietly.
When I reached the gate, I noticed it was slightly open.
My anger rose again.
So this was what Musa did whenever I left for work?
I pushed the gate gently and entered.
But what I saw inside was not what I expected.
It was worse.
Musa was not at his post.
Sonia's bedroom window was half open.
And from inside my own room, I heard my wife's voice trembling as she said, 'Please, Musa, hurry before my husband comes back.'
My legs became heavy.
Then I saw the red cloth hanging over Musa's shoulder as he stepped out of my bedroom with something hidden in his hand...
Go to the comments for what I saw next.
My 9-year-old son left that sentence for me in a letter three weeks ago.
He had folded the paper into four tiny parts and slipped it inside my briefcase, the same briefcase I carried to work every single morning.
That afternoon, I was in my office looking for a blue pen when my fingers brushed against a strange white paper.
At first, I frowned.
'What is this doing here?' I whispered.
I opened it slowly, not knowing that one small paper was about to scatter my peace.
The first line looked innocent.
'Daddy good morning. How is work? I hope you are fine? I hope you have eaten?'
I almost smiled.
Then I continued reading.
'I want to tell you something. I wanted to tell you this morning but I was afraid because mummy was looking at me. That is why I wrote this.'
My hand became cold.
I shifted in my chair and read the next part with my heart beating like a drum.
'Daddy, our gateman always comes inside your bedroom to touch mummy's body with a red cloth anytime you go to work. Please don't tell mummy. I don't want her to beat me. I love you, Daddy.
Your lovely son.'
For a few seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
Sonia?
My own wife?
And Musa, the gateman I trusted with my house, my compound, my keys, and even my family?
I picked up my phone immediately to call Sonia, but something inside me stopped my thumb before it touched her name.
'No,' I told myself. 'Do not warn her.'
I stood up and began pacing around my office like a man who had lost something he could not name.
My chest was hot. My eyes were burning. The letter shook in my hand.
How could she do this to me with the man who opened my gate every morning?
Then a thought came to me so clearly that it felt like somebody whispered it into my ear.
Go home. See it with your own eyes.
I grabbed my car key from the desk and walked out without telling anybody.
All through the drive home, my mind was not on the road. I kept seeing Sonia's face, Musa's quiet smile, and my son hiding fear behind his little handwriting.
By the time I got close to the house, I parked some distance away from the gate.
I did not want Musa to hear my car.
I stepped down and walked quietly.
When I reached the gate, I noticed it was slightly open.
My anger rose again.
So this was what Musa did whenever I left for work?
I pushed the gate gently and entered.
But what I saw inside was not what I expected.
It was worse.
Musa was not at his post.
Sonia's bedroom window was half open.
And from inside my own room, I heard my wife's voice trembling as she said, 'Please, Musa, hurry before my husband comes back.'
My legs became heavy.
Then I saw the red cloth hanging over Musa's shoulder as he stepped out of my bedroom with something hidden in his hand...
Go to the comments for what I saw next.
